This is my favorite coffee cup. It’s a ceramic mug, but the design is based off the paper cups you receive with deli coffee. And anyone who’s been to New York before probably knows that most deli coffee is some of the best in the city. Better than Starbucks, better than Dunkin Donuts, even better than most $5 cups of coffee you buy at gourmet places.
I can’t explain it…maybe it’s something in the greasy atmosphere of the deli’s that makes it so good. It’s like how a ballgame hotdog will always taste way better than gourmet vienna sausage or any sort of well done sabrett.
I returned home yesterday from a very long trip. We took two days to drive 12 hours, stopping over for a night in Pennsylvania to visit my best friend, Michelle. We arrived home to Brooklyn sometime in the early afternoon on Sunday and with our luggage, dogs, groceries and extra bags of Christmas gifts from my very generous parents managed to slowly hobble up the stairs.
I began by unpacking the groceries. Always my least favorite thing to do. And Sean ran to the bathroom…he made the terrible choice of drinking two large coffees before getting on the road. From the bathroom, I hear him laughing. At first, I found this a little weird, but didn’t think too much of it. Guys laugh at weird things sometimes, ya know? But then he calls for me to come to the bathroom.
Me (from the other room): Um, I’d really rather not. (I was a little wary of what exactly he wanted to show me)
Him: No seriously. You’ve got to see this.
And so I hesitantly make my way to the bathroom. And there, laying in pieces all over my bathtub is the ceiling. There had been some leaking and water damage that for the past year we’ve been complaining about to the landlord…and now, two weeks before we’re moving, the ceiling caves in. Probably from snow or something.
And I, too, could do nothing but laugh. The laughter, however, stopped when I reached my bedroom to find another area of the ceiling crumbled…all over my beautiful velvet bedspread. For some reason, this room was a whole lot less funny than the bathroom. But, what can you do? We grabbed some garbage bags and began cleaning up the mess. Then taped empty bags to the ceiling to prevent excess drafts and leaks until the contractor can come and fix it up.
Thank the Lord we’re moving soon. This place is most certainly cursed.
When I lived in Hell’s Kitchen, a friend of mine came to stay with me for a couple weeks while he found an apartment in the city. In so many ways, this friend was a wonderful house guest. He was very clean, walked the dog for me during the day, stocked my pantry, took me out to dinner…and only smoked pot outside on my fire escape (awww, so nice of him, right?). But at the beginning of the third week, when I knew there was only another couple of days before he moved into his own Brooklyn apartment, he spilled half a jar of spaghetti sauce in my kitchen. I heard the crash from my bedroom and shrugged it off. I spill shit all the time. I grabbed the paper towels which were in my room since I had been cleaning and headed toward the kitchen. When I reached the doorway, I saw him bent over the mess using my beautiful William Sonoma towels and a hand embroidered towel a friend had gotten me from Italy to clean up the marinara sauce.
It took all of my strength not to make him sleep in the street those last couple of days.
Pictured above are my new towels. The bird towel I found in a tiny boutique in Long Island. Within a day, I caught Sean using it to dry the dishes. Is this a man thing? It must be…my only solution was for the first month to have a post-it on the towel that said “Fancy Towels - Do Not Use! It finally got through to him.
I just picked Luna up from the kennel this morning. Whenever I am away from her for a week or so, I always forget that she’s really not that big of a dog. About 35-40 lbs. She barely comes to my knees. So this morning when I picked her up, I reached down and wrapped my arms around her tiny body. As I bent, she thrashed and knocked her hard skull into the bridge of my nose, making me drop her leash. She took off, running in circles around the lobby of the veterinarian’s office and it took three of us to finally catch her. Standing there with my nose throbbing, her leash in one hand and her Prozac in the other, I realized her size has nothing to do with the kind of dog she is. She may be petite in size, but that personality of hers can match any 90 lb Lab or Great Dane or Boxer.
I am always for rescuing a dog. Both mine and Sean’s dog are rescues. I don’t think anyone in my family has ever bought a dog from a pet store…unless PetSmart was holding one of those “rescue days”. Every now and then, though, I like to pop into the stores to see what sweet, cute puppies are for sale. Unfortunately, if these little guys don’t sell, they’re going to end up in a shelter…or worse. So…with that in mind, aren’t you still kind of saving a dog’s life by buying it from the pet store? I know a shelter is better for the obvious reasons, but these pups need a home as much as the next dog. The main problem I see is that you’re supporting these pet stores and puppy mills by buying from here. Not to mention, they’re ridiculously expensive. This breed pictured (whatever it is, I have no idea) was $550, which for all I know could have been a real bargain.
In any case, these little guys are really cute and I hope that they as well as all the other dogs and puppies in shelters and pet stores find loving and permanent homes.
I hope everyone had as incredible of a holiday as I did! I was busy and having so much fun that I didn’t have time to sit down and update any aspect of this site. Not to worry, though, now that I’m back home that will change. Starting right…now.
According to USA Today, this diner (The Red Arrow Diner) is considered to be one of the top ten best diners in the United States. And it was good–the coffee was good. The eggs and hash browns were good. But, by far, the greatest thing on that menu was the Egg Nog French Toast. And I’ve never actually had egg nog, the drink, but if it tastes anything like that french toast, then I know what I’ll be getting wasted to on Christmas Eve!
Just kidding…haha. Haha. Right.
Anyway, the diner and its coffee comes highly recommended from me, though I’m not sure I agree that it deserves to be in the TOP TEN IN THE US. That’s a pretty lofty honor. In any case, if you wish to try it, it can be found in Manchester, NH.
This is my niece last year around Christmas time. And if you can look at that face and tell me she isn’t one of the cutest dang babies you’ve ever seen, then I may just have to kick you in the nads. That’s right–I’ll find you and kick your nuts in. Don’t have nuts? Doesn’t even matter. It’ll feel like you’ve got them when I’m through with ya.
This post took a hostile turn for the worse…I apologize. I will not attempt to kick anyone in the balls for the record. Except maybe the boyfriend! But the chances are he had it coming.
Right, ok. So, you caught me…this is totally not Luna. But I thought that maybe you all were a bit tired of her crazy mug. So, I thought I’d introduce you to Pascha. Pascha is the sweetest and coolest cat I’ve ever known. She is cuddly and acts more like a dog than some of those tiny breeds Manhattan women carry around in their purses all day.
She belonged to my old boss at the magazine and when I was in the office writing, she would try to lay down across my laptop in an attempt to garner some attention. And I’d have to weigh it out…”Hmm, get work done or play with the kitty….get WORK done or play with the adorable kitty? Get work done and get my paycheck sooner or have fun, cuddle time with this cutie who I am deathly allergic to?”
Believe it or not, the cat who I am deathly allergic to won every time. God, I’m a sucker.
This here, people, is my dream house. I love the old Tudor style (Tudor, right? I think that’s correct…) and how cozy and inviting it looks. It’s the kind of house that would invite you in for some tea and cookies and allow you to curl up in a blanket in front of its fireplace.
The only problem with this house is that it is in Vermont. And do you KNOW how cold Vermont gets in the winter? And by winter, obviously I am talking about September through May. Because there is no fall or spring anywhere in New England.